


no les das la espalda (tú le ayuda' y perdona' la familia primero)

by Yevynaea



Series: tryna fight for what's right and got sidetracked [1]
Category: Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018)
Genre: Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Backstory, Blood and Injury, Character Death Fix, Fake Character Death, Family, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Family Secrets, Flashbacks, Gen, Healing, Hospitals, Injury Recovery, Major Character Injury, Not Canon Compliant, Post-Canon, Secret Identity, moving into post canon with chapter 2, not a crossover i just stole claire bc i lov her, spies and henchmen and goons oh my, y'all know what's up lmao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-01
Updated: 2019-02-17
Packaged: 2019-10-20 09:19:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17619707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yevynaea/pseuds/Yevynaea
Summary: “Prowler may have survived,” one of Kingpin’s ears in emergency services says, without preamble, when Tombstone answers their call. “We sent a bus to the old lady’s neighborhood for a gunshot wound, and a cop escorted it to the hospital. I’ll ask around, let you know whatever I find out.”They hang up without waiting for a reply, knowing they won’t get one. Tombstone frowns, mulling over the news.Fisk won’t be happy about this.(Or: Aaron survives. Jefferson and Rio have to help him avoid jail time and/or Kingpin's goons.)(Or: Two Lawful Goods Make The Most Chaotic Decisions Of Both Their Respective Careers, More At 11.)





	1. there's a line for tomorrow and that line's gettin' shorter

**Author's Note:**

> The Aaron Lives AU i promised my friends, starring: my nonexistent knowledge of 1) New York geography, 2) hospital confidentiality clauses, and 3) police procedures, and featuring a version of Claire Temple who is just as Tired as Netflix's Defenders Claire Temple, a series of non-ideal decisions, and (later), a whole lot of family feels.  
> Enjoy!

The short Spider-Man is there one moment and gone the next, disappearing completely before Jefferson’s eyes. He looks around a moment, but Spider-Man doesn’t reappear, so Jeff turns his attention to the man the vigilante had been kneeling over. He sees the costume before the face, but his heart drops just the same.

“Aaron!” Jefferson falls to his knees by his brother, searching for a pulse. He’s always known Aaron’s decisions, the life he’s chosen to live, would get him killed one day, but that doesn’t mean Jeff’s ready for that day to be today. He presses two fingers to Aaron’s neck, desperately hoping-- and it’s there. A heartbeat. Slow and fading, but there.

Jeff calls in urgently for an ambulance, and an APB on the new Spider-Man.

 

🕸🕷🕸

 

“Do you have any idea who he is? His name?” one of the EMTs asks hurriedly. “We need to know if his blood type is on record.”

“A-positive,” Jefferson says immediately, and the paramedic gives him an odd glance, but luckily doesn’t take the time to ask questions.

“You’re sure?” is all they ask, and Jeff nods. The EMT and their partners bundle Aaron into the ambulance, while Jeff takes his squad car, putting Aaron’s gloves on the passenger seat beside him.

He escorts the ambulance through the city, discordant sirens wailing all the way to the hospital.

 

🕸🕷🕸

 

They barely have time, between getting the call and the ambulance arriving, to get ready for the man being brought in. One gunshot to the back, no exit wound. Rio feels sorry for the guy long before she sees who it is.

 

🕸🕷🕸

 

Miles heard his dad call for the ambulance, after Uncle Aaron had fallen unconscious, after Miles had feared the worst and left because he couldn’t be seen, couldn’t be caught, especially not by Dad. Miles heard his dad call for the ambulance, so even as he swings back to school, even as he climbs into his room, even as he sweeps everything off his desk, he’s still trying to hold onto the slim hope that his uncle might not be gone.

 

🕸🕷🕸

 

_ “Prowler may have survived,”  _ one of Kingpin’s ears in emergency services says, without preamble, when Tombstone answers their call.  _ “We sent a bus to the old lady’s neighborhood for a gunshot wound, and a cop escorted it to the hospital. I’ll ask around, let you know whatever I find out.” _

They hang up without waiting for a reply, knowing they won’t get one. Tombstone frowns, mulling over the news.

Fisk won’t be happy about this.

 

🕸🕷🕸

 

“How is he?” Jeff asks, standing up so quickly he shoves his chair backward against the wall. He’s been out here for a while, now.

“Alive,” Rio answers, which is the best news she can give. Aaron’s not on death’s door anymore, but he still isn’t in fair condition, and it was… a little touch and go, for a while. “Does your captain know where you are?”

Jeff grimaces slightly.

“I called and said a family emergency came up, he told me Carter and Riley could cover the rest of my patrol,” he says. “He isn’t happy about it, but I’m off shift for the rest of the day.”

“And he doesn’t know what’s going on?” Rio asks. Jeff shakes his head, and she nods. “That's good.” She doesn’t miss the incredulous glance he sends her, and when she speaks again it’s barely more than a low whisper. “What? _Mi amor,_ just because he doesn’t have as much of a public reputation as some villains, does _not_ mean we can assume no one in that operating room recognized him. The less everyone knows about this situation, the better. We don’t want to draw any lines between Prowler, and Aaron.”

“We  _ should _ ,” Jefferson mutters. His tone suggests he’s only arguing so she can talk him around. “He’s a villain, Rio.”

“ _ Sí, es verdad, _ ” she agrees. “He’s also your brother. He’s still family, Jeff. And we both know that’s why you’re the only officer waiting for him out here. So far, at least.”

Jeff gives a little exhale that falls somewhere between a sigh and a laugh.

“Officer?” They both turn toward the voice. It’s Claire, another nurse on shift who Rio doesn’t know well yet. “We can just give our report on the gunshot victim to you, right? I mean--”

It’s not exactly hospital procedure, but it works out in their favor. Rio meets Jeff’s eyes for a fleeting second and knows he’s thinking the same thing. Claire glances between the two of them a couple of times, an odd expression on her face, like she sees the silent conversation happening before her but can’t quite understand it.

“--since you’re here?” she continues. “I assume you can take it...”

“Yes,” Jeff says, cutting off the trailing end of Claire’s sentence. “Yeah, thank you.”

“No problem,” Claire replies. She gives Rio a glance that somehow manages to be deeply meaningful yet completely indecipherable, and she leaves them in the hallway.

“What was that?” Jeff asks.

“ _ No sé, _ ” Rio shrugs, “but she just solved one problem for us.”

“Yeah, one out of how many?” Jeff wonders aloud. Rio sighs, deeply.

“ _ Pues, veremos.” _

 

🕸🕷🕸

 

Claire gets a slow, sinking feeling in her stomach the moment she lays eyes on the bloodied costume the latest John Doe had been cut out of on arrival. That feeling increases when she sees the PDNY officer hanging around the ICU, and the nurse (Rio, if Claire remembers correctly) talking to him in hushed tones. Something about family, and why he’s the only cop waiting.

Claire offers to give the gunshot report directly to the officer, and doesn’t miss the glance he shares with Rio. When the officer accepts, Claire sends up a quick prayer, to any God that might be listening, that could more or less be summarized as  _ please don’t let this end with me helping another goddamn vigilante, I’ve got enough on my plate right now,  _ and she gives Rio a glance meant to convey much the same thing, and then she gets back to work.

Of course, it’s not even half an hour before she’s stepping out of a patient’s room and nearly bumping into the two men rounding the corner, both dressed in the most cliché, suspicious version of business suits-- jackets open, shirts unbuttoned at the top, ties nonexistent, heavy boots instead of loafers. One or both reek of cigarettes.

“‘Scuse us,” one says, putting his hands on Claire’s shoulders, first to steady her, then to manhandle her out of their way. She shrugs out of his grip with a frown.

“Can I help you?” she asks.

“We’re just lookin’ for a friend,” says the second one.

Claire watches them walk down the hall, none-too-subtly glancing into every room they pass. They both have guns tucked into the backs of their waistbands, distinct lumps under their jackets.

_ Good to know my prayers get sent straight to voicemail,  _ Claire thinks with a sigh, and she goes looking for Rio.

 

🕸🕷🕸

 

They’ve just moved Aaron out of the ICU, but Jefferson is still waiting for further news when the nurse from before approaches at a fast clip, expression dark.

“Why are you here?” she asks, before Jefferson can say anything, or even greet her. “I heard Rio say something about family, so I’m gonna go out on a limb and say you’re not here to question or arrest your guy in there.”

Jeff is startled by the accusation, and he begins to deny it, to spin a story about Aaron just being a witness on a case, but the nurse cuts him off. “Someone’s here looking for him.”

“What?” Jefferson’s immediately on high alert. “Who?”

“A couple of guys, they look like mobsters, maybe.” She gestures vaguely in the direction she just came from. “They’re armed. If you’re actually here on official PDNY business, I suggest calling in for backup.” When Jeff hesitates, the nurse looks briefly exhausted. “Yeah, that’s what I figured.”

She makes a _ follow me  _ motion, and Jeff lets her lead him around the corner, down the hall, and into an Employees Only locker room which she hurriedly makes sure is empty. Jeff takes out his phone, and calls Rio.

_ “Hello?” _

“Rio, there are armed men here looking for Prowler,” Jeff says, careful not to say Aaron’s name in front of the nurse--  _ Claire _ ; he finally has a moment to read her nametag.

_ “We have to get them out. We can call security on them,”  _ Rio says, but right away Jeff can imagine how many ways a confrontation might go wrong, how the situation might escalate, how long it would take before the PDNY was  _ actually  _ involved. They can’t afford all that, right now.

“We have to get  _ him  _ out,” he replies.

_ “ _ _ ¿Qué? Jeff, he’s still in bad shape, no doctor will sign him out, _ ” Rio protests.

“We can sneak him out,” Claire says, apparently listening in, so Jeff just puts the call on speaker, “but that won’t stop them looking for him.”

_ “Claire?” _

“ _ Hola _ ,” Claire deadpans. “Any ideas, Rio?”

_ “They don’t know who he is, right? _ ” Rio says after a moment.  _ “We just have to let them find  _ Prowler _ , not him.” _

“We can’t lead them to someone else. Even if they’re  _ not  _ here to kill him,” Jefferson says, because there’s no knowing whether the men are Prowler’s enemies or allies, “they’d figure it out when the fake started denying being Prowler.”

_ “Then we give them someone who can’t deny it,” _ Rio says. Claire beats Jeff to the realization by half a second.

“You want to give them a body,” she says.

“How the-- how are we gonna do that?” Jefferson asks.

_ “Leave it to me, _ ” Rio says, voice determined.  _ “You get A-- Prowler out of here. _ ”

“Is that a collective ‘you’ or…” Claire trails off.

“We can’t ask you to take a risk like that,” Jeff starts, but Rio interrupts him.

“ _ Yes, it is. We need the help.” _

Rio hangs up the call, and Jeff puts his phone away, giving Claire an apologetic look.

“Figures,” Claire says. She puts a hand on Jeff’s arm to gently push him aside, and goes to a locker that must be hers, because she opens it quickly and pulls out a black shoulder bag. Then she looks Jeff up and down, goes to another locker, and-- although this one takes a moment longer-- opens it with just as much ease as the first. “Here,” she tosses a set of scrubs at him. “Change into those, you’ll stand out less.”

“Whose are they?” Jeff asks, as Claire closes the locker that isn’t hers.

“A very trusting man who has his birthday as his locker combination. Hurry up and change.”

 

🕸🕷🕸

 

Rio isn’t actually sure yet, what she’s going to do. She feels like there should’ve been other possibilities, before  _ fake Prowler’s death,  _ but if there’s another option that gets Aaron out of this--  _ without  _ police involvement-- she doesn’t see it. So, _ fake Prowler’s death  _ it is. Rio gets one of her coworkers to cover for her, and she goes downstairs to the morgue.

The timeline of Aaron’s injury, the general location of the wound, and his approximate height and body type all narrow down the list, but it’s a big hospital, and she only needs to find one cadaver.

_ This is not how I thought my day would go,  _ Rio thinks, scrambling for a lie to tell the morgue attendant who’s just noticed her.

 

🕸🕷🕸

 

“This is a terrible plan,” Jefferson says, because it needs to be said.

“Yep,” Claire agrees. “But it’s worked for me before.”

“You’ve done this before?” Jeff asks, incredulous, and Claire glances around at the elevator they’re in, at Aaron, still unconscious, and at the reclined wheelchair they’ve got him in. There’s a blanket wrapped up around his shoulders to make it seem like he’s only asleep, and Claire’s bag is on his lap.

“Almost to the letter,” Claire admits with a sigh.

The elevator dings when they reach the ground floor, and Claire leads the way through the halls toward the exit, Jeff wheeling Aaron behind her. No one stops them, or asks any questions, and Jefferson spares a thought for the hospital’s apparent lack of security, but he can’t find it in him to be disappointed when that same lack of security is the only reason they’ve gotten this far.

He doesn’t miss Claire’s half-moment of hesitation, when they round a corner and there are two men coming the other way down the corridor. But she recovers quickly, and the men barely spare her, or Jeff and Aaron, a glance. Their footsteps grow softer behind Jeff, and he keeps walking, keeps listening until those footsteps fade entirely.

“Oh thank God,” Claire mutters. When they reach the doors, she leans out into the sunlight first. “Two more watching your squad car,” she says, ducking back inside. “What do you wanna do?”

Jeff really only sees two options. One, try and distract or get rid of the guys watching his car, or two… don’t. Which of course means he won’t be able to get Aaron into his car, but-- oh, that’s a possibility.

“Do you have a car?” he asks Claire. She pulls the keys out of her pocket, no hesitation, and starts to lead him back through the hospital to a different door.

“Once we get him out, you should take the scrubs off and let them see you leave,” she suggests.

 

🕸🕷🕸

 

The gunshot Rio finds is through and through, the John Doe a little shorter than Aaron, and quite a few shades lighter-skinned, but Rio’s banking on no one knowing what Prowler looks like under his mask. The morgue attendant is still just outside, but thankfully the rest of the staff is on lunch break, leaving Rio and her paper-thin  _ “there’s a cop upstairs looking for a John Doe he wanted to question but I think something got lost in the shuffle, I need to make sure the guy’s not dead,” _ excuses alone with the cadavers.

“The guy outside looks a little antsy,” Claire says, and Rio turns to glance at her, still focused on the clipboard in front of her, on making sure the details will hold up to at least a little scrutiny. Time of death looks right enough, if only just.

“They see you?” She asks.

“I had to run around looking for them for a minute, but yeah,” Claire says, hefting the big plastic bag with Prowler’s ruined costume visible inside. She places it on the empty slab next to their chosen scapegoat. “They’re not far.”

Practically on cue, there’s a commotion outside the morgue which ends with two men bursting in, an irate attendant right behind them.

“That belong to him?” one man asks, pointing at the bag, then to the John Doe.

“Who are you?” Rio asks. Next to her, Claire crosses her arms, mirroring Rio’s confused and irritated expression.

_ “Is that his? _ ” the other man asks emphatically, clearly trying to intimidate them into answering.

“Yes,  _ why _ ?” Rio asks.

“You gentlemen shouldn’t be down here,” Claire adds.

“What happened?” the first demands. Rio flips her clipboard back to the first page, making a small show of looking for the answer.

“Died in surgery,” she says. “Was he a friend of yours?”

The men don’t respond, just share a look, then push past the attendant on their way out, one pulling a flip phone from his jacket pocket and hitting a speed dial number.

“The boss can relax. He’s dead,” he says into the phone, right before the door swings shut behind them. Rio and Claire are still for a moment, sharing a long look,  _ waiting _ , but the men don’t come back.

“Oh,  _ gracias a dios, _ ” Rio says softly, leaning forward over the empty slab beside her.

“What just happened?” the morgue attendant asks from the doorway.

“Something above all our paygrades,” Claire says, tired, and the attendant seems to accept this answer, leaving without any more questions.

“We need to go,” Rio says, grabbing Prowler’s costume. Claire follows her out.

 

🕸🕷🕸

 

Claire takes the lead halfway up the stairs, showing the way out to her car, where Jeff’s managed to get the Prowler situated lying in the backseat. Jeff tosses Claire’s keys to her, Rio tosses the bagged-up costume to Jeff, who puts it on the car floor, switching it out for Claire’s messenger bag. When it looks like he’s about to give it to her, she points to Rio instead. He hands it off, and Claire watches the two of them kiss with only the smallest hint of surprise.

“Be careful,” Jeff says, as Rio gets in the back of the car, putting Prowler’s head on her lap and Claire’s bag at her feet.

“You too,  _ mi amor _ ,” Rio says. Claire gets in the driver’s seat and starts the car, Rio closes her door, and they’re off, leaving Jeff in the parking garage.

“Boyfriend?” Claire asks.

“Husband,” Rio corrects.

“And him?” Claire glances in the rearview mirror at the unconscious man she’s just helped break out of the hospital. Rio hesitates for a few seconds, before sighing.

“Jeff’s brother,” she says. Her tone implies there’s… a lot, there. Claire doesn’t pry.

“There’s some first aid supplies in that bag, by the way,” she says instead.

“...How often do you  _ do  _ things like this?” Rio asks, after a long minute of digging through the messenger bag. Claire doesn’t really know the answer to that.

“Too often,” she decides on, before going for another non-subtle change of subject. “Where am I taking us?”

 

🕸🕷🕸

 

The goons don’t follow Jefferson from the hospital, and he makes it home without incident, exhaling in quiet relief when he sees Claire’s car already parked outside. Inside, Aaron’s been laid out on the couch, Claire and Rio both looking over him. They’ve set up an IV drip, Rio’s checking that Aaron’s stitches haven’t opened while Claire checks his vitals.

“Everything good, nurse?” Jeff asks, only half joking, but Rio gives him a soft smile.

“ _ Sí, _ ” she confirms. “I think he’ll be alright.”

Jefferson feels the tension leave his body, at that.

“So, Claire, right?” he asks, even though she’s still got her nametag on.

“Yeah,” she replies. “Jeff?”

“Jefferson Davis.” He offers his hand, and she shakes it. “Thank you, for helping us out back there.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” she deadpans. “If I lose my job I’m holding  _ all y’all  _ responsible.”

 

🕸🕷🕸

 

“Prowler dead?” Fisk asks, when Tombstone hangs up the phone. Tombstone nods, and Kingpin smiles, satisfied. “Good. I don’t wanna waste time tying up loose ends, after tonight.”

 

🕸🕷🕸

 

No one’s called yet. No one’s come to tell him  _ “something’s happened” _ . That’s something.

Tied to a chair in his room, hyper-aware of every perceived shortcoming and every mistake he’s made and the fact that his friends are out there getting ready to fight, Miles tries to hang on to that.


	2. 'cause i like high chances that i might lose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i just wrote 8 pages in as many hours hot damn why can't i be this productive when i have essays to do

He tells Rio he’s going because he realized Miles doesn’t know yet that Aaron’s hurt. Rio, he thinks, sees past that, sees what’s going on at a deeper level, but she only nods, hugs him tight before letting him go. The sun’s just starting to set when he arrives, painting the world pales shades of orange-pink-purple.

Jefferson’s known who Prowler was for… a long time. It was a big component in their falling out, which in itself was just an expediting of how they’d already been growing apart. He’s always kept the secret, because despite everything he didn’t want to see his brother jailed, because Miles loves Aaron and has always looked up to him. But, while Jefferson is still willing to keep Prowler’s identity from the police and general public, he finds he isn’t so willing anymore to hide Aaron’s identity from Miles.

All Jefferson can think, all he’s been able to think about, since the alleyway, is _I don’t want to leave things like this_. He didn’t want Aaron to die thinking Jeff didn’t love him. He didn’t want things to end before they had a chance to fix it. And he definitely didn’t want Miles to find out about Aaron’s… other life, that way.

So here he is, at Miles’ school, because those thoughts had shifted and congealed until they closer resembled something like _I have to talk to Miles, I have to fix things with him first, and he needs to know who his uncle is. Before something else like this happens._

“Miles?” Jeff knocks. “Miles, it’s your dad. Please open the door.”

The shadows under the door move, but it stays closed. “Miles, I can see your shadow moving around.” The shadows stop. “Yeah, okay. I get it. I get it. Still ignoring me. Look, can we talk for a minute? Something--” he stops himself, starts again. “It’s about your Uncle Aaron. There’s something you should know.”

Still no response, so Jefferson continues. “Look, sometimes... people drift apart, Miles. And I don't want that to happen to us, okay? I know I don't always do what you need me to do or say what you need me to say, but I see this-- this _spark_ in you, it's _amazing_ ! It's why I push you. But it's yours, and _whatever_ you choose to do with it, you'll be great.”

The shadow under the door has moved closer, accompanied by the soft sound of wheels, like a desk chair. Miles still doesn’t say anything, though, or open the door, and Jeff sighs. “Look, call me when you can, okay? I love you… You don't have to say it back, though.”

He knocks on the door again, softly, in place of a goodbye.

 

🕸🕷🕸

 

As he breaks free of the webbing, makes his way to Mrs. Parker's house, Miles keeps thinking of his dad's words, the way he sounded. His tone was sad, yes, tired, but not weighed down by grief in the same way Miles has heard from Mrs. Parker, from Peter (B.), from Gwen and the others-- even from his mom, although that was years ago, when Miles’ grandpa died.

As he makes the Spider-Man suit his own, heads back into the heart of the city, braces himself at the top of a skyscraper, Miles keeps thinking of his dad’s words. And then his mom’s, and Uncle Aaron’s, and Peter’s, all of them echoing endlessly around in his head, loud even past his fast-beating heart.

_I see this-- this spark in you, it’s amazing! Whatever you choose to do with it, you’ll be great._

Miles climbs onto the ledge, sitting with his legs dangling off the building, wind buffeting against him this high up.

_Our family doesn’t run from things, Miles._

He takes a breath, and pulls the mask down over his face.

_You’re the best of all of us, Miles. You on your way._

He puts his hands against the building, and crouches there, sideways on the glass.

_That’s all it is, Miles. A leap of faith._

He jumps.

 

🕸🕷🕸

 

Claire volunteers to stay with Aaron, so Rio gives Claire her phone number just in case, and goes back to the hospital for another shift-- mostly to make sure nothing disasterous happened in the hours since they left, to make sure the goons looking for Prowler really bought the ruse.

Jeff called his captain, told him things were handled at home, and got put back on patrol. When the earthquakes start, when the city starts glitching violently around them, they’re both away from home, and neither of them can reach Miles.

Jeff gets a call about _multiple spider-people_ being sighted _,_ again, and starts heading toward the source. The quakes grow worse under his feet the closer he gets, and Jeff can’t find it in him to be surprised.

 

🕸🕷🕸

 

MJ _knows_ something's up. It's why she accepted Fisk's invitation to begin with, why she wanted to talk to the waiters-who-weren't-waiters (although she’d lost her words, at the sight of the one whose suit looked so much like Peter’s, sputtered something about _bread_ that she’s sure he’d have laughed about). It’s why she leaves the building the moment Fisk disappears after his speech. Because she knows what Peter told her, before he left that night, about Fisk and Ock teaming up with other villains, building something huge, trying to open spacetime or new universes or something equally insane. She knows that he went to stop it, and the city glitched and shook, and Spider-Man died yet here were at least three of them sneaking into Fisk's building.

When she leaves, there’s a PDNY officer just outside, heading toward the front doors, looking determined.

“Officer, there’s a bunch of people in the penthouse ballroom that need to be evacuated,” she tells him.

“I-- thank you, Miss,” he glances at her, once, twice, then again, and sighs a bit. “Mrs. Parker.”

“MJ,” she corrects, smiling a little. “Mrs. Parker’s my aunt.”

She loses her balance when the next quake hits, and the officer, relaying the evacuation suggestion through his walkie-talkie, puts an arm out to catch her.

“Get somewhere safe,” he orders, once the ground steadies again. He doesn’t have to tell her twice.

 

🕸🕷🕸

 

Jefferson never really… _hated_ Spider-Man. Okay, no, that’s a lie, he did. But not the same way as some people. Jefferson always knew that the vigilante-- the _hero_ , was trying, was doing what he thought was right. He always knew that Spider-Man did a lot of good, and saved a lot of people. Jeff just hated the _entitlement_ , the idea that Spider-Man had a right to be ignoring the law, and taking cases from the police, and leaving criminals strung up by their toes without paying attention to due process.

Now though, when Peter Parker is dead and there’s a bunch of new vigilantes running around in his image, causing _more_ trouble, _more_ damage-- Jefferson can’t shake the image of the little one, in the ill-fitting costume, kneeling over Aaron-- _now_ Jeff hates Spider-Man.

Until he gets everyone evacuated, and goes down to the basement. Under the basement. Under Brooklyn. And he sees… something impossible. Buildings, worlds, phasing through each other, orbiting the center of the beautiful, awful lights, colors, everything is dizzying and wrong and none of it looks _real_ and yet it’s happening before his eyes, and Jeff realizes a few things in quick succession.

First: the spider-people can’t be responsible for this. This level of-- whatever the hell is happening, the size of this place, it has to be Wilson Fisk’s doing. It’s under his building, for Christ’s sake.

Second: there’s a small spider-person in black and red, _fighting Fisk_ , in that chaos, and Jeff immediately connects him to the one in the alley. Are they the same? Did the guy get a costume upgrade since this morning? They’re the same height, build, so Jeff assumes so.

Third: this Spider-Man did not shoot Aaron. Truthfully, Jefferson’s known that since the beginning, known that the spider wouldn’t have moved Prowler, wouldn’t have seemed so broken, if he did the damage to begin with. But Jeff’s anger didn’t have another place to go, and the little Spider-Man didn’t stick around to give any answers, so that anger slipped right into _blame_ without Jeff even fully noticing.

Fourth: if the spider-people have been fighting Fisk, it stands to reason that Fisk knows something about Aaron’s brush with death-- that is, if he isn’t responsible himself.

And, last: the little Spider-Man is losing the fight. As well as he holds himself, as agile and strong as he so clearly is, he’s _tiny_ compared to Fisk. Different versions of New York crash together and split apart and spin around each other, and Jeff watches the new Spider-Man go down hard, watches Fisk bring a fist down with enough force to crack stone. _Blunt chest trauma,_ Jeff remembers Peter Parker’s official cause of death as; a slightly less awful way of saying _his ribcage was crushed flat._

“Come on, Spider-Man, get up,” Jefferson finds himself saying, softly at first, then louder when the little guy actually looks up toward the sound. “Get up!”

 _New York needs you,_ he thinks, in the face of reality twisting over itself, the ground unsteady and unstable under his feet. _Come on. You can do it._

Spider-Man gets up. He puts a hand on Fisks’s shoulder, and Fisk looks confused, and then electricity crackles over him, shooting him backward with the force of it.

“Hey Kingpin!” the new Spider yells, just barely audible over everything else. “Push the green button for me!”

He shoots two strings of webbing at Fisk, swings the man around and up against a ceiling that seems barely-there, and the whole room sparks, and the swirling mass of worlds _implodes,_ and it’s all Jefferson can do to brace himself against the force of it.

After the room explodes, Jeff gets up, coughing dust loose from his lungs, ignoring the slight twinge in his ribs and the one in his ankle. He looks for Fisk and the little Spider-Man, but there’s only an empty strand of web.

 

🕸🕷🕸

 

Miles webs Kingpin up between a couple of buildings, scribbles a note for the cops, and leaves the unconscious villain to be collected later. Then he swings up to a nearby rooftop to watch the aftermath. His dad comes up out of the collider, onto the street, and there’s already sirens on their way, but Miles watches Dad call in for back-up anyway, giving them more information, telling them to approach carefully because there’s a big sinkhole in the street now-- and a sheer drop into the broken collider. He watches police and other emergency responders help people in the surrounding area, watches them cordon everything off, watches them take Kingpin’s people into custody.

Brooklyn’s still standing, and his friends got home safe, and Miles is Spider-Man, and the joy and tired, shaky relief of it all fills his whole body until he can barely stand still. He calls his dad.

 

🕸🕷🕸

 

“Miles?” Jeff answers, urgent, trying not to sound as frantic as he feels. “Miles? Miles, are you okay?”

 _“Yeah, I’m okay,”_ Miles sounds tired, but there’s no lie in the words. _“You’re probably busy, so--”_

“No,” Jeff just wants to keep hearing Miles’ voice, needs to reassure himself his son’s alright “no no no, I can talk, I can talk. Look, so, I came by earlier because, uh… your uncle, he got shot, Miles. He’s-- he’s alright, but, it was close.”

There’s a beat of silence, before Miles asks,

 _“Do you know who did it?_ ”

“I thought I did, but I was wrong,” Jeff admits. He thinks he knows now, but, he still doesn’t have the full story. “Look, Miles, what I said at the door, it wasn’t just talk. You know, I was thinking we could find a nice wall-- _privately owned--_ ”

 _“Ok, Dad,”_ Miles says, voice emotional but full of soft laughter.

“--Like, at the police station, and you could… throw up some of your art.” Jeff sighs. “Man, I’m bad at this,” he mutters to himself, then, “Ok, Miles?”

The line is quiet. “Miles? You there?” he looks, and the call’s gone dead. “Come _on_ , man! C-Mobile…”

There’s a strange _pop_ kind of sound, and Spider-Man is right next to him.

“Officer,” the hero greets. Jeff startles.

“Spider-Man! Listen, down there, that was… I mean, I owe you--”

Jeff startles for the second time when Spider-Man lunges forward, suddenly hugging him. Unsure what else to do, Jefferson hugs the spider, patting him on the back-- and it strikes Jeff just _how_ small this Spider-Man is. He’s not just tiny in comparison to Fisk, he’s _tiny,_ period, about Miles’ height, and shaking slightly in Jeff’s arms. _He’s just a kid._

 

🕸🕷🕸

 

Rio finally gets ahold of Miles, after the world settles, after the earthquakes stop. She gets a call from Jeff, letting her know what’s going on, that he’ll be working late trying to clean everything up, and that Miles called him, is safe. She’s relieved, but needs to know for herself, so she calls Miles.

He answers on the first ring. He tells her classes are cancelled in the morning, but not to worry about trying to get him from school tonight, everything’s kind of crazy, _you can come get me in the morning, Mam_ _i,_ _I’m okay for now, yo prometo._ She agrees, although reluctantly, mostly just glad to know he’s safe, and tells him _goodnight_ , _te quiero, see you tomorrow,_ before hanging up.

She’s still got her phone out when it buzzes with a text from Claire, just two small words:

_he’s awake._

Rio looks at the clock, and realizes she’s still got nearly half an hour on her shift.

“ _Mierda.”_

 

🕸🕷🕸

 

Aaron wakes up with a sudden flood of panic. He doesn’t even have time to wonder if he’s dead, before the pain sets in, but before the pain comes the cold, rushing fear. Fear that he’s still going to die, fear that he doesn’t know if Miles is safe, fear that he’s looking up at an unfamiliar ceiling.

“You’re awake.” Aaron looks toward the voice, and sees a low table, a woman in nurse’s scrubs sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of it, snacking on a bowl of potato chips. She’s got the news playing on the TV, but the volume is low.

“Where the hell am I?” Aaron asks, starting to move, but the room spins, and the woman’s on her feet quickly to push him back down onto the-- couch, this is a couch. This is a _familiar_ couch, Aaron realizes, looking up at the back of it, flecks of an old red paint stain still visible, because Jefferson’s never liked to buy new things until the old’s worn out, and this is the same couch Jeff and Rio had when Aaron was still being asked to babysit little Miles, and when Rio asked whose fault the paint on the sofa was, Aaron and Miles had both hurriedly pointed to each other.

“Your brother’s house,” the nurse confirms, fixing the blanket that’s draped over him, then using her watch and a hand on his wrist to check his pulse.

“Shit,” Aaron says, closing his eyes.

“My name’s Claire, by the way,” the nurse says, grabbing a blood pressure cuff out of a bag on the floor. “Jeff, Rio, and I kidnapped you from the hospital. There were some guys looking for you.”

Aaron’s… honestly kind of surprised, to hear that Jefferson would help him like that.

“Huh,” he says.

“They’re both back at work,” Claire continues, pulling a phone out of her pocket and sending off a quick text before putting it away again. “You’ve been out for like twelve hours. Your costume’s in the laundry, but it’s gonna need a lot more than that to be wearable again. Your claws and boots are by the door. Your vitals seem fair now, but you should stay here for tonight, possibly longer given that you’ve still got a bullet wound in your back. That wouldn’t be too easy to restitch on your own.”

She says it all so casually, listing things off that he might need to know, not batting an eyelash at the mention of his Prowler gear.

“Thanks,” Aaron replies simply, not sure what else to say after that.

“Yep,” Claire says, going back to her chips and TV now that she’s determined he’s alright. Aaron turns his head just in time to see a video of Spider-Man-- _a_ Spider-Man, a small one, waving and greeting people while they cheer. He’s dressed in a mostly-black suit, and-- as the camera moves in closer, past the crowd-- it looks like the red spider symbol on the front is spray painted on.

Aaron laughs.

 

🕸🕷🕸

 

Claire leaves once Rio gets home, with a goodnight and a _“I ate some potato chips as payment”_ and a _“just bring my bag back to work when you’re done with it”._ And then Rio is alone with Aaron, who’s watching the news with a gloating smirk when she walks into the living room.

 _“Breaking update on the situation at Fisk tower,”_ the news anchor announces, playing helicopter footage of the damage, the crumbling hole in the street, emergency vehicles scattered all around the area with their lights on. _“The device Mr. Wilson Fisk was keeping under his building was apparently created with parts and resources from partner company Alchemax. Fisk provides a lion’s share of the funding for Alchemax’s scientific endeavors. Dr. Olivia Octavius, the head scientist of Alchemax’s main lab, in the Hudson Valley, cannot be reached for comment.”_

Aaron snorts at that.

“Bet she’s hidin’ out until things die down,” he says, turning the volume down on the TV before looking at Rio. He doesn’t seem sure how to greet her, what to say.

“How do you feel?” she asks, rather than let him squirm.

“Like I got shot,” he deadpans.

“Could be worse,” Rio mutters, half to herself.

“Yeah,” Aaron agrees, losing the last of his earlier amusement, growing solemn. “Thank you, Rio.”

She’s too tired to respond with anything except a nod.

 

🕸🕷🕸

 

The house is quiet and dark when Jefferson finally gets home. Aaron is asleep-- actually sleeping, now, not just unconscious, his breath just on the quiet side of snoring, long legs propped up over the arm of the sofa. Rather than the hospital gown they had to bring him home in, he’s wearing a baggy t-shirt and a pair of pajama pants, drawstring tied tight, that Jeff recognizes as his own.

Rio is in the bedroom, also asleep, also in pajamas, sprawled on top of the blankets rather than under them, taking up about 80% of the bed. Jeff breathes a soft laugh, and pulls the blankets back on her side of the bed before lifting her up, moving her over, and tucking her in. Then he presses a kiss to her cheek. She makes a small, disgruntled sound, but doesn’t wake.

 

🕸🕷🕸

 

Miles talks to his roommate first thing in the morning. Ganke’s a cool guy, as it turns out, and extremely willing to not mention the Spider-Man thing to anyone, which is a big plus. They spend a good chunk of the morning talking about their favorite books and video games.

“Your parents coming to get you?” Ganke asks, pulling his beanie down on his head, getting ready to catch his train home.

“Yeah.” Miles nods, scribbling down ideas for a new art piece in his sketchbook.

“Cool. See you Monday, man.”

The door shuts softly behind him when he leaves, and Miles is left alone in the room.

It’s only a little while before there’s a knock on the door. Miles scrambles to put everything he needs for the weekend back in his backpack before answering it.

The first thing he does is hug his dad.

“Ready to go-- oh,” Dad says, hugging Miles back. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” Miles says, not letting go yet. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

 

🕸🕷🕸

 

The walk home is quiet, mostly because Miles seems to be in his own world, a bit, and Jeff doesn’t know what to say to bring him out of it.

 

🕸🕷🕸

 

The shower’s running when they get home, but the television’s on, too, both sounds reaching the front door, and Miles is confused. Did his mom leave the TV on accidentally? _That’s not like Mamá,_ he thinks.

He doesn’t expect to see Uncle Aaron laying on the couch, when he steps into the living room. Miles can’t stop the tears that rise into his eyes, can’t stop himself from rushing forward.

“Hey, hey, careful, I’m still healin’,” Aaron says lightly, when Miles leans down to try and hug him. He wraps an arm up around Miles, though, only letting go when Miles leans back.

“I was so scared,” Miles admits, quiet, too low for his dad to hear. Then, louder, “shouldn’t you be in a hospital?”

“Your dad broke me out.” Aaron grins as he says this.

“What? Dad,” Miles whirls around to face his dad, who looks tense and uncomfortable, now. _“¿Qué hiciste?”_

“Hey, it wasn’t just me,” Dad defends. “And he-- people were looking for him. We had to get him out.”

“Looking for him, why?” Miles feels like he already knows, but he’s curious to see what his dad will tell him. Instead of a lie, though, or a vague half-truth, Dad looks at Uncle Aaron, as if for permission.

“He’s a villain, Miles. His name’s Prowler,” Dad says, when Aaron nods slightly. Miles is, obviously, not surprised by this revelation, but he is surprised that his dad would tell him. He glances between his dad and uncle a few times, but they only look at him expectantly.

 _They’re waiting for you to react, you fool,_ Miles’ thoughts provide helpfully.

“A villain,” he echoes. He doesn’t have to fake the hurt, the betrayal, that rises in him, at saying that out loud again. “Wh-- why?”

Aaron winces, hearing the sincerity in Miles’ tone.

“It’s a long story, man,” he says. “It’s… it’s part of why your dad and I don’t-- didn’t talk, for so long.”

That _does_ surprise Miles, and he whirls on his dad once more.

 _“_ _¿Qué?”_ he demands. “You’ve _known?”_

Dad sighs, rubbing a hand over his face.

“Yeah,” he admits. “I just-- me and your mom, we didn’t want to tell you when you were younger, and then it just never-- never seemed like the right time, so…”

“When would the ‘right time’ be?” Miles asks, incredulous, and Uncle Aaron laughs.

“He’s got you there,” he tells his brother, who sighs again, but smiles.


	3. and you'll be left in the dust, unless i stuck by ya

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the somewhat delayed update! Real life got in the way of writing for a little bit. But we've reached the end!  
> Thanks for reading!!!

_ “I gotcha,” Jefferson says, holding perfectly still while Aaron regains his balance. _

_ “Yeah, yeah,” Aaron replies. “Another step over.” _

_ Jeff complies, shuffling a step to the left so Aaron can reach further. Aaron’s got his feet on Jefferson’s shoulders, trying to draw a clean line of acid-lime green across their current work in progress, while Jeff holds his ankles and gives the occasional piece of unwanted advice. _

_ The police car moves past the alley slow, on patrol, and they don’t hear any short whoop of the siren, they don’t see any flash of the lights, but they hear the slight screech of brakes down the block, the open and shut of a car door, and they both know it’s better to leave than hang around. Aaron hops down, capping the green. _

_ “Come on,” Jeff tosses Aaron’s bag at him, and Aaron barely manages to catch it, scowling as he scrambles to stuff cans of paint inside and close it up. “Hurry up!” _

_ “What’chu think I’m doing?” Aaron shoots back, slinging the backpack on, and then they’re off. They dart across busy streets and through alleys, fly down the subway station stairwell, and catch the train they need by seconds, doors shutting behind them as they slump into seats. _

_ Aaron laughs, out of breath and not minding a bit. “How we doing on time?” _

_ “Twenty minutes,” Jeff says, checking his watch. “Mama’s gonna kill us if we’re late again.” _

_ “Then we won’t be,” Aaron puts an arm around his brother’s shoulders. They sit in comfortable silence for a few stops, and when they approach their own, seven minutes on the clock, he speaks again. “Bet we can make it if we run.” _

 

🕸🕷🕸

 

“You can’t tell them,” Miles says, quiet, silhouetted against the light of the kitchen behind him. He’s got a bowl of cereal in his hand, a midnight snack before bed. Or before a night of crime-fighting-- Aaron can see the high collar of a Spider-suit under Miles’ shirt.

“I won’t, Miles,” Aaron answers from the couch, matching his nephew’s volume. It wouldn’t be good for either of them if this conversation woke Jeff and Rio. “It ain’t my secret to tell.”

Miles relaxes.

“Thanks, Uncle Aaron,” he says. “I-- I am gonna tell them, just, not yet.”

“Waiting for the right time?” Aaron asks, smirking, but Miles only gives him a flat look.

“...Gathering my courage,” the kid admits, after a moment. Aaron just looks at him, for a moment. He remembers his own words, from that alleyway, when he was dying, when he thought those were the last words he’d ever say.  _ You’re the best of all of us.  _ True then, and true now, in more than one sense. Miles is Jefferson’s righteousness, Rio’s deep caring, Aaron’s determination, the unflinching resolve of his ancestors, the steadfast courage of his predecessor as Spider-Man. Miles is the best of all of them-- the best of New York, as far as Aaron’s concerned. It might get him hurt someday, someday soon, and that notion is terrifying, a sudden heavy weight on Aaron’s already-weakened shoulders.

After a minute, Aaron realizes they’re still just staring at each other in silence, in the dark of the living room, Miles shifting on his feet as he waits for his uncle’s response.

“Take your time. But eat your cereal, man, it’s getting soggy,” Aaron says lightly, settling back down against the couch to sleep. Miles gives a short, quiet laugh, and flicks the kitchen light off.

 

🕸🕷🕸

 

_ “I gotcha,” Aaron says, and Rio relaxes, stepping back from the register and letting him take over. _

_ “Hey, I’m not finished with my order, babe,” the asshole customer on the other side of the counter protests, eyes following Rio as she ducks into the kitchen. _

_ “I can help you,” Aaron assures. The man’s eyes slide reluctantly, disappointedly, to Aaron, who gives an easy smile and pretends he doesn’t wanna throw the guy through the front wall. _

_ Rio is the first of Aaron’s friends to ever be called a “good influence” by his father. They’re both just starting out in college-- him an electrical engineering major, her a nursing major-- and they meet working the same shitty evening shifts at the same shitty 24 hour pizza place near campus. _

_ Jefferson’s working full time, not totally sure what he wants to do yet, and not wanting to waste time and money on classes he may never actually need. Aaron sees the crush his brother has on Rio from the first time they’re in the same room together, so he starts inviting her over when he knows Jeff is gonna be home. It’s funny, watching Jeff fall over himself trying to impress her. _

_ Rio makes the first move, in the end, which isn’t surprising to anyone, except maybe Jefferson. Aaron doesn’t think Jeff realized Rio liked him back, before that moment. The two of them become inseparable fast, and Aaron’s happy for both of them. Some part of him worries about the future, about his brother leaving him behind, not having his back anymore-- but Aaron shoves that down. _

_ “We’ll always be brothers,” he tells himself under his breath, watching them at the kitchen table, watching Rio laugh at Jeff’s disgust of something in one of her textbooks. He still believes it, then. _

 

🕸🕷🕸

 

“I can’t remember the last time we did this,” Rio says. She’s shoulder-to-shoulder on the sofa with him, old episodes of Space Trek playing while they dig into boxes of Korean takeout. Jeff’s at work and Miles is back at school, but Rio’s next shift doesn’t start for a few hours, meaning she’s free to keep Aaron company.

“I think we were nineteen,” he supplies. “It was before you and Jeff started goin’ out.”

“ _Éramos tan pequeños ,_ ” she says, half-joking. Aaron just nods.

 

🕸🕷🕸

 

_ “God damn it, J,” Aaron says, alarm blaring overhead as he sprints down the hallway of Alchemax’s soon-to-close satellite Manhattan office, with Jeff right on his heels. They keep their heads down, faces always turned away from the sparsely-placed security cameras. _

_ “You can’t blame me, this was your idea,” Jefferson says, defensive. The white linoleum squeaks under their shoe-soles, the lights overhead flick on with deep, echoing clicks, following their movement down the corridor, and the bag over Aaron’s shoulder is heavy but he’s growing more used to the weight with every step. _

_ They turn a corner and Aaron essentially bowls over a young woman in a lab coat, her dark, wild hair streaked through with teal. He scrambles up immediately, Jefferson pulling his arm to help him along, but Aaron has time to note her shocked expression, the ID strung on a lanyard around her neck that reads  _ **_INTERN_ ** _ in stark black letters on the bottom. Then he’s running again, full-tilt, toward the glowing exit sign at the end of the hall. _

_ “Hey!” the intern calls after them, righteously angry, but they turn another corner, then duck into a stairwell, and her voice fades before they can hear her say anything else. They both take the stairs two, three, four at a time. _

_ “Still blaming you,” Aaron says to Jeff, who doesn’t respond this time. There are footsteps behind them, now, in the corridors and up the stairs, most likely security guards. Both brothers jump the last few steps and hit the ground running. They enter the building’s front lobby, Jeff reaching the door first by a split second, both of them bursting out into the chill night air. _

_ “This way,” Jeff says, taking off down the street, and Aaron follows, aware of the sirens audible in the distance, the way the wind threatens to pull his hood back from his face, the weight of the bag over his shoulder. _

 

🕸🕷🕸

 

_ Later, when they’re sure they’ve gotten away clean, when they’re home and the bag of stolen blueprints and floppy disks has been passed off to Aaron’s not-really-a-friend who paid them to steal it all in the first place, Jefferson stands in the doorway of Aaron’s room, arms crossed. _

_ “I dunno if I wanna do this stuff, anymore,” he says solemnly. Quiet, so as not to disturb their parents in the living room. “I don’t think you should, either. You’re gonna get caught one of these days.” _

_ ‘You’, not ‘we’, like Jeff’s already decided, like he’s already cut himself out of it, and Aaron frowns and doesn’t answer, recounting his share of the cash. _

 

🕸🕷🕸

 

It’s been five days since her last vigilante encounter, and against her better judgement, Claire accepts Rio’s invitation to join the Morales-Davis family for dinner, because she gets the feeling that Rio is ready and willing to hold her medical bag hostage until she does.

She pulls up in front of the house at exactly six. She knocks on the door, and when Jeff opens it, he’s in a casual t-shirt and jeans, looking way more relaxed than the first time they met.

“Hey, come on in,” he greets, smiling, shutting the door behind her before heading back to help Rio in the kitchen. Claire takes her shoes and jacket off at the door, and the first thing she sees when she turns toward the living room is Prowler, still in civilian clothes, sitting up on the couch, playing a video game with a young-teen boy.

“You actually stuck around,” Claire says, a little surprised.

“Had Miles grab some stuff from my apartment for me,” Prowler confirms, gesturing to the kid at his side. “Figured I should heed your advice.”

“Mamá threatened to duct tape him to the couch if he tried to leave,” the kid corrects, looking up from the game, then setting his controller aside to get up and shake her hand. “I’m Miles.”

“Claire.”

“You helped get Uncle Aaron out of the hospital?” Miles asks.

“Yep,” Claire replies. Prowler-- Aaron, apparently-- pauses the game before putting his controller down too, but he doesn’t stand. “How’re your stitches?” Claire asks him.

“Holding, according to Rio,” he replies.

“Good.” She’s about to say more, ask whether he’s been up on his feet yet much, whether the pain’s gone down the way it should, but a small crash from the kitchen distracts her, and all three of them look that direction.

“ _ Ay, puta madre, _ ” Rio says, in a low, growling tone.

“We’ve got it,” Jeff calls, before anyone can ask if they need help in there.

“...Wanna play Smash Brothers with us?” Miles asks Claire.

“Sure.”

 

🕸🕷🕸

 

Aaron only gets up once dinner’s ready, moving from the couch to a chair at the table, ignoring the pain that standing still causes. He’s been here a week, and it’s… less awkward, now, than the first couple of days. He and Jeff have talked, a little, stilted half-conversations, an attempt at healing the rift between them, and that’s helped with making Aaron feel less like he’s walking on eggshells just by existing on Jeff’s couch.

The conversation over dinner stays in the realm of small talk for a while, Miles talking about school, the others talking about their jobs, Aaron mentioning a new Webflix show he found, things like that. And then, somehow, while Aaron is distracted stuffing a full tortilla in his mouth to fight the heat of an inordinately spicy bite of posole, the topic changes to the new Spider-Man.

“I swear the kid can’t be older than fifteen,” Jefferson says.

“Peter Parker was only, what, sixteen, when he started?” Claire asks. “And he did alright.”

“Until--” Jeff cuts himself off, but the implication is clear. Aaron avoids making eye contact with Miles, shaking away memories of that night.

“But when he was starting out, he was young, and he was okay,” Claire reiterates. “I don’t think age is as important when you can lift a car over your head without problems.”

Aaron glances at Miles, who’s hiding a small, preening smile behind a half-eaten tortilla.

“Youth still means inexperience, though,” Rio argues.

“And the new guy’s  _ younger  _ than Parker was,” Jeff adds.

“You don’t know that for sure,” Miles says, aiming for casual, and only missing by an inch.

“He’s  _ tiny _ ,” Jeff replies. “Aaron, you know him, right?” Aaron looks up, raising an eyebrow at his brother. “He was the one in the alley, when I found you. He helped you.”

“Yeah,” Aaron confirms. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Miles stirring his spoon absently around his bowl. “Yeah, he did.”

“Does he seem older than fifteen to you?” Jeff asks.

“I dunno, man, I wasn’t exactly in good shape,” Aaron answers, and Rio puts a hand briefly on her husband’s arm, getting him to drop it.

“Do you think he has people who know who he is?” Claire asks. “I mean, Peter had his wife, his aunt… who’s this kid got?”

“I’m sure he’s got someone,” Aaron says, aiming for casual, and barely hitting it. He doesn’t look at Miles.

 

🕸🕷🕸

 

_ Jefferson moves out, moves forward, becomes a husband, then a cop, then a father. _

_ Aaron is best man at the wedding, but even then, things aren’t perfect between him and Jeff. They’ve been growing apart slowly for a couple of years, now. _

_ He isn’t invited to Jeff’s swearing in ceremony, which is fine enough. Aaron doesn’t think he’d quite fit in with the crowd there. _

 

🕸🕷🕸

 

_ When Miles is born, the hospital waiting room is filled past capacity with family, everyone waiting to hear, waiting to meet the new baby. They stick close to the walls, shoulder to shoulder, younger relatives sitting on the floor where there aren’t enough chairs, keeping the hallway clear for doctors and nurses. Aaron sits between his mother and one of Rio’s uncles, and everyone who can waits through the night, dozing off, waking up, making snack runs to the cafeteria or the vending machines down the hall. _

_ Around six in the morning, Aaron gets up to stretch, to find something with caffeine, and he stops in a narrow hallway by the stairs, looking out a wide window at the very beginning of the sunrise. Bright August light reflects off of glass and metal, painting New York in shades of gold, streaks of summer unfurling against the city like petals. _

_ Fast footsteps behind him, and Aaron turns to see one of his youngest cousins there, out of breath and smiling. _

_ “It’s a boy,” the kid says, before taking off again. Aaron follows her back, a grin on his face the whole way. _

 

🕸🕷🕸

 

“I gotcha,” Jeff says, hand gripping Aaron’s bicep, keeping him upright.

“Yeah, yeah,” Aaron replies. He steadies himself against the wall, and once the dizziness passes, he pulls his arm free of Jefferson’s hold. “I’m fine, man.”

“Just trying to help,” Jeff says, voice flat, but he keeps hovering until Aaron gets to the bathroom door and shuts it firmly in his face.

Jefferson sighs, and goes to the kitchen table, sitting down and putting his head in his hands. “I’m not good at this,” he says softly to himself.

He remembers being kids, running around the city like they owned it. He remembers being teens, partners in crime. He remembers talking to each other less and less, not spending as much time together, until they both moved out of their parents’ house and stopped spending almost any time together at all. He doesn’t know how to heal a wound that old. Doesn’t even know where to begin.

“You remember when we were real little, and Dad took us to work with him?” Aaron asks, settling in the chair to Jeff’s right. Jefferson looks up, a little surprised not to have heard Aaron coming.

“Yeah, we got in trouble for eating all those donuts they were saving for a meeting, or something,” Jeff recalls, smiling at the memory.

“Dad thought it was hilarious, ‘til we got sick later,” Aaron adds, and Jeff laughs.

“We were little hellions back then,” he says.

“I don’t think I grew outta that,” Aaron admits jokingly, but there’s a weight to the words, a certain tiredness in their tone.

“You just grew  _ into  _ it,” Jeff says, trying to keep his own tone light, teasing, but Aaron looks away, rubbing a hand over his mouth.

“I was there when Peter Parker died,” he says, the subject change sudden enough to give Jeff whiplash. “And so was Spider-Man. The-- the new kid.”

Jeff takes a breath in, ready to ask questions, but he hurriedly shuts his mouth-- he can’t be a cop now, can’t interrogate Aaron over this. He stays quiet, and lets his brother keep talking.

“Kingpin killed Parker,” Aaron continues. “There was-- we heard a noise, and saw this dude running away. Fisk told me to get rid of him; no witnesses. But I lost him. I-- happened to find him again,” there’s some hesitation there, something Aaron’s hiding, or simplifying, but Jeff doesn’t press, “and he led us to May Parker’s house, which is…”

“Where you got shot,” Jeff supplies. Aaron nods.

“I was about to kill him,” Aaron’s voice breaks, and he closes his eyes. “But I realized he was-- was just a kid, and I couldn’t. Fisk shot me for sparing a  _ kid _ .”

Jefferson realizes his hands are curled into tight fists, on the table, and forces them open. He wants to ask if Aaron would ever be willing to testify, against Fisk, to make sure the man’s conviction sticks, to make sure the bastard never gets out of jail-- but he knows what the answer would be.  _ Prowler _ experienced these things, not Aaron Davis. And Fisk’s got too many people in his pocket, anyway; Aaron testifying would only put their whole family in danger.

“He needs help, J,” Aaron says, meeting Jeff’s eyes again, and there’s a hard determination behind them now. “Spider-Man. He’s been through so much, and he’s had his powers for like what, a week? Kid needs people in his corner.”

 

🕸🕷🕸

 

_ Aaron moves out, moves forward, becomes a better criminal, and then one with an actual record, and then a masked one. _

_ He can’t be convicted for anything if no one knows it’s Aaron Davis, under the costume. He throws in the cape for flair, but the boots and claws come later. He gets along fine with knives, at first. _

_ He gets his engineering degree, though he does it with much lower grades than his parents would like, and he tells them it’s because of how much he had to work, how much his job distracted him from his classes. It’s half true, at least. _

 

🕸🕷🕸

 

_ “Hands where I can see ‘em!” Jefferson yells, and Aaron could laugh. He raises his arms slowly. He’s got a hard drive in one clawed hand, sealed in a plastic bag to keep it safe from the rain. There are other cops, four total, plus the two security guards behind him in the open doors of the building he’s just left. He knows he can get away, but it may not be clean. “Drop the hard drive!” _

_ Prowler doesn’t. _

_ “Drop it!” another cop calls out. Prowler looks at her slowly, then starts to lower himself down, like he’s putting the drive down, like he’s surrendering. Two of the cops holster their weapons, step forward, ready to cuff him, while Jefferson and the last keep their guns trained on him. _

_ Aaron moves, right at the cop nearest him, knocking the officer off-balance before sweeping sideways, past them all, gunshots echoing in his ears. He leaps over the trunk of one of the cop cars, and there’s a screech of tires and the honking of horns as he lands in the street, in front of oncoming traffic, but he’s still moving, hard drive in hand. By the time he hears the sirens start to sound behind him, he’s already in an alley, blocks away, starting up his motorcycle. _

_ He doesn’t register the pain in his leg as anything significant until he’s home, window shut behind him, mask off, and he looks at the few small drops of blood he’s left on his windowsill along with the rainwater. It’s a graze, a light one. He can stitch it up, no trouble, but it still puts a sour taste in his mouth. He has to trust that the storm will wash away any blood left at the scene. _

_ He’s patched himself up, put a t-shirt and sweats on, opened a beer, and slumped on the couch, by the time he replays the scene in his head and realizes-- based on the angle, the shot that hit him was probably Jeff’s. _

 

🕸🕷🕸

 

After twelve days, Rio takes the stitches out of Aaron’s back, and declares him fine to leave, provided he take it easy for a couple more weeks. She also gives him back his suit, but it’s in rough shape; he’ll have to get it home to see if it’s even salvageable.

“Miles insisted we invite you to family dinner at least once a month,” Jeff says, smiling a little.

“He wants you two to start talking more,” Rio elaborates. “So, dinner’s the Saturday after next, six o’clock.”

“I dunno…” Aaron starts to say, but they both give him identical  _ looks _ , and he gives a quiet chuckle. “Aight. I’ll be here.”

“Good.” Rio stands on tiptoe to hug him goodbye. Jeff steps forward when Rio steps back, but hesitates, so Aaron simply offers a hand. Jefferson shakes it.

“Take care of yourself, ‘til then,” he says, in the I’m-a-cop-and-I’m-telling-you voice that Aaron remembers from the days when it was only an I’m-your-older-brother-and-I’m-telling-you voice.

“Yeah, yeah.” Aaron smirks.

 

🕸🕷🕸

 

_ Jeff and Rio still ask him to babysit Miles, sometimes. Mostly Rio, because Jeff’s always been hesitant about it, reluctant to let Aaron be any kind of influence on the kid. And Jeff doesn’t even know about Aaron’s other identity, yet. _

_ “Hey, little man,” Aaron says, fist-bumping Miles as the nine-year-old passes him, into the apartment. _

_ “Hey, Uncle Aaron,” Miles says, cheerful. He’s got his pencil case and a new sketchbook under his arm, and he settles on Aaron’s couch with them right away. _

_ “Can I use your bathroom before we go, Aaron?” Rio asks, and he nods in reply, opening the door further so she can come in. Jefferson follows her through the door, but then just stops in the entryway, standing in tense, awkward silence. _

_ “So, how’s work?” Aaron asks, just for the petty joy it brings him to watch his brother squirm a little. _

_ “Good,” Jeff says, and then, like it pains him, “you?” _

_ “Good,” Aaron replies. _

_ “Uncle Aaron, can I have some juice?” Miles asks from the couch. _

_ “Sure,” Aaron moves from the entryway to open the fridge, and notices Jeff move further into the apartment, now that Aaron’s not in his way. As Aaron’s pouring a cup of apple juice for Miles, he hears someone open a door-- his first thought is Rio, but then the toilet flushes, the sink turns on, meaning she’s still in the bathroom. He looks, and his bedroom door is open, Jefferson nowhere in sight. “It’s on the counter,” Aaron tells Miles, and he goes into his room, shutting the door quietly behind him when he sees Jeff. Or, more specifically, when he sees what Jeff’s holding. _

_ “It’s you,” Jefferson says, voice full of well-contained pain, anger, confusion. “You’re the Prowler.” _

_ Aaron thinks about denying it, but what would be the point? His costume’s right there in the bottom of his closet, claws and all, and Jeff of all people knows perfectly well what Prowler’s suit looks like. _

_ “You gonna try and take me in?” Aaron asks, voice low. Jeff looks even more angry, even more pained. He throws the mask down, storms forward, and Aaron tenses, but Jeff sweeps past him and back out into the main room, where Rio’s waiting. _

_ “We’re going,” Jefferson says, grabbing Miles’ art supplies off the coffee table. “All of us, come on.” _

_ “¿Que? Jeff--” Rio starts. _

_ “I’ll explain later,” Jeff says, and she must hear the same small crack in his voice that Aaron does, because she doesn’t ask anything more, just spares Aaron a single, puzzled look before sweeping Miles back out the door. Jeff is last to leave, slamming the front door behind him without a word or a backward glance. _

_ Aaron leaves within the hour, and spends the next five days at a friend’s house, watching the footage religiously from the security camera he’s got set up in front of his door. After five days, when no SWAT teams show up at his door and no news story breaks, he figures this is Jeff’s last courtesy to him, as brothers. He goes home. _

_ (He doesn’t see Miles again, except at big family holidays, for over two years. The day the kid starts showing up at his apartment is a happy one.) _

 

🕸🕷🕸

 

“I gotcha,” Aaron says, steadying the ladder as it threatens to tip backward. Miles grins down at him, getting his balance back before starting to paint again.

“Lookin’ good, Miles!” Jefferson calls, as he and Rio return from the bodega down the street, holding four Mexican Koca-Sodas between them.

“ _ ¡Qué hermoso!”  _ Rio agrees, pride in her voice.

“ _ ¡Gracias, Mamí!”  _ Miles replies.

The mural really is beautiful. Sunflowers, dozens, the largest bigger across than Miles is tall, a Brooklyn skyline nestled inside of it, silhouetted against a sunrise. Swinging between two of the buildings, a familiar red and blue Spider-Man can be seen, and under him, five simple words in white lettering.

_ Peter Parker _

_ Rest in peace. _

Miles has added other spider-people, small, but there, swinging between the petals of the other flowers. Aaron hasn’t commented yet on the conspicuous absence of one in particular, because he figures  _ someone  _ will beat him to it--

“Where’s the new kid?” Jeff asks, practically on cue. Aaron smiles.

“W-what?” Miles asks, finishing the petal he’s painting before looking down over his shoulder.

“The new Spider-Man,” Jefferson reiterates. “He should be in there somewhere.”

“You think?” Miles asks.

“Of course,” Jeff says. Rio nods in agreement. Miles looks to Aaron, who raises an eyebrow.

“I’m not gonna disagree,” Aaron says.

Miles grins, and gets back to work.

 

🕸🕷🕸

 

When the mural is finished, a small, black-clad Spider-Man can be found on the ground below Peter, looking up, one hand outstretched, ready to shoot a web and follow his predecessor into the air.

Miles steps back from the wall, leaning back against Dad’s squad car alongside his parents and uncle.

“You like it?” he asks, and gets a round of enthusiastic confirmations from his family.

“It’s perfect, man,” Uncle Aaron adds, wrapping an arm around Miles’ shoulder.

“I dunno, I’d add a little Prowler. Like, running away from Spider-Man maybe,” Dad jokes. Mamá and Uncle Aaron both give Dad light shoves, and Miles laughs.

“Nah,” he says, giving his uncle a sly look. “He wouldn’t be running away. I  _ hear  _ he’s changing his ways.”

_ “ _ _ ¿Ah, sí?”  _ Mam á laughs. “Where did you hear this rumor,  _ mijo _ ?”

“On the street, y’know.” Miles shrugs. Now Dad laughs, too, and Uncle Aaron cracks a small smile.

“Yeah, maybe,” he says, squeezing Miles’ shoulders in a gentle hug, and while Dad and Mamá look at Aaron in surprise, Miles just grins. “Maybe.”


End file.
